


Earthly and Unearthly Desires

by snitchnipped



Series: Dichotomy [9]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Golden Age (Narnia), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 00:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12047460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snitchnipped/pseuds/snitchnipped
Summary: "The discipline of desire is the background of character." - John Locke.  In an evening of indulgences, Edmund is distracted from his earthly desires by those of a different nature.  Written for the 2017 Narnia Fiction Exchange.





	Earthly and Unearthly Desires

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Starbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starbrow/gifts).



Edmund was drunk.  
  
Edmund was often drunk, of course, and he was not too proud to admit his habits.  This time, though… the wine from Galma was not as potent as promised.  It was more, so much more.  So much _deliciously_ more.  He needed more.  
  
He fumbled for a scrap of paper from the chaos of journals and books on his desk and scribbled down “24 bottles” trusting that he would not understand its meaning in the morning.  
  
Perhaps it was not the wisest thing to indulge as much on such a hot summer eve as this one.  Edmund tilted his head and through glazed eyes saw the empty bottle on its side, its partner nearly empty.  Next to it lay the smoldering remains of a batch of aged blue lasaia that a friend had left him, the pipe lying abandoned beside the dish of ash.  _Maybe I should order 24 pounds more of that, too._  
  
Edmund’s chest let out a rumble.  He sat up in shock, a little too fast, in reaction.  But… no… no, he shouldn’t be surprised.  Should he?  
  
And then another rumble.  
  
Edmund braced himself against the desk.  
  
“You startle at your own laughter?”  
  
Edmund blinked a few times and turned his head to the bed.  “My what?”  
  
“You’re laughing.  I presume at yourself, for if it’s directed towards me, I would be most upset.”  
  
Now, Edmund did not want to upset his guest.  For one thing, Edmund was generally a very polite person and would be horrified to know he upset someone.  Secondly, Edmund did not invite anyone into his chambers to begin with and had no idea who the man lying quite comfortably in his bed even was, and thus, was less inclined to upset the unknown.  
  
Instinct clumsily took over, and he reached for the knife in the one boot he still had on.  
  
“Knife play?  I’m intrigued.”  
  
“You catch me at a disadvantage, I’m afraid,” Edmund managed to say without slurring.  “Who are you?”  
  
The man raised his arms above his head in a casual stretch.  The bed’s canopy put the man’s silhouette in shadow from the candlelight, and Edmund could barely see his features. “Who do you want me to be?” the stranger replied.  
  
This was too deep of a question for Edmund in his state.  “I’m not sure.  A friend over foe, to be sure.”  
  
“Then I am you friend, sire.”  The man stood up, revealing to be wearing trousers and not much else.  A weird state to call on someone, to be sure.  But it made sense to Edmund to not judge the stranger’s lack of clothing for he was similarly attired.  Along with that one boot.  And knife, if that counts.  
  
A flash of green passed by his eyes, and he blearily looked up to find the man was afore him and had lifted the near empty wine bottle.  He held it up to the glow of the chandelier’s candlelight.    
  
“Galma.  1005.  Oak.  My, my, is it a special occasion?” the man asked before taking the last swig.    
  
“Must there be one?  Opening a bottle alone makes the occasion special,” Edmund replied, eyeing the empty bottle in dismay.  
  
The man swallowed and smiled.  “A man after Bacchus’ own sensibilities.  Pity he’s not here, which is why he sent me in his place.  Now don’t look so put out, there’s another bottle under your desk.”  
  
_Bacchus_.  The name seemed so familiar, and images of textbooks and Greek Histories and sitting stiffly in a desk chair with a scratchy, starched shirt…  
  
Edmund jerked upright, as if suddenly waking up, thus kicking the aforementioned bottle with his foot—unfortunately with his unbooted one.  
  
“Careful there,” the man said as he crouched down before Edmund to reach under the desk.    
  
Edmund ignored the pain in his toe, and studied the tawny curls of the stranger’s head.  He felt the desire to reach up and run his fingers through them.  And since this was a night of indulgences, he did so.  A pleasant tingling ran through his fingers—a side affect he attributed to smoking the blue lasaia.  Or at least he thought.  He didn’t particularly care right now.  The curls were so soft.  
  
The man sat back on his haunches, flicked the cork off the new bottle, and took a swig before handing it to Edmund.  Edmund graciously accepted it, and as he tilted back to take his own drink, the man crossed his arms across Edmund’s lap, perched his chin on his wrist, and looked up at the king.  
  
“Chasing away demons?”  
  
Edmund lowered the bottle and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, not remembering that he wasn’t even wearing sleeves… just the pants and the one boot and the knife.  “You could say that.”  
  
“I just did,” the man teased.  
  
“Then we are in agreement,” Edmund teased back and took another swig.  
  
“Whoa there,” the stranger replied, “Leave some for later.  We have all night.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“For whatever you need to ease your mind,” the man said, reaching up to lightly give Edmund’s brow a poke.  
  
Edmund thought of going for his knife again, but stopped.  “Who _are_ you?”  
  
The man smiled and sat up straighter.  He unfolded his arms and start rubbing Edmund’s thighs, up and down, up and down.  Edmund found the movements as intoxicating as the wine.  
  
“Apparently, I’m what you need.  Here,” he said, taking the bottle away from the king, setting it aside.  “Even I have heard stories of how the young king of Narnia gets a bit carried away when he imbibes too much in the nectar of the gods and the blue smoke.”  
  
The man’s hands reached higher to Edmund’s waistband.  Edmund stared the curls again. “It’s just a release,” he muttered.  
  
“There are other ways to release,” the man replied, lowering his cheek on top of Edmund’s thigh.  
  
Edmund reached for the curls again with a shaky hand.  “Not as king.”  
  
“Exactly as king.  As you,” the man said as he reached for Edmund’s hand and brought it to his mouth for a soft kiss.  “I know what troubles you.  Your brother’s obsession with the Northern lands, how your sister is in Calormen for a troublesome courtship—perhaps never coming back—how your younger sister shoulders too much responsibility…”  
  
Edmund could not argue if he wanted to, for he was distracted by the stranger who had resumed his caressing in delicious motions.   This time, Edmund’s rumbles from within did not make him startle.  
  
“I have met your brother once.  And I have heard much about your sisters.  I can understand why you worry about them so, why you desire for the safety of your family.  Why you put your own desires aside,” the man said.  He abruptly stopped his motions and stood up.  “Which is why I’m here.  You, my friend, need a release.  A release besides wine and smoke.”  
  
Edmund nearly fell forward in his chair as if to chase the feelings the man’s hands elicited from him.  But the man was already striding over to the bed, confidence rippling through his strong structure.  
  
“You are hardly what I go for,” Edmund said.  “You’re not near bosomy enough.”  
  
The man turned to look over his shoulder, and Edmund realized that he suddenly wasn’t wearing anything at all after all.  Edmund reached to adjust himself to find that he wasn’t either.  Not even the boot.  
  
“And you are hardly what I go for either.  But Bacchus isn’t here, and Psyche isn’t here, and sometimes you make do with what you have.  Now come here.”  
  
Edmund slowly blinked and reached for the bottle.  The cork had somehow been replaced, and he struggled to pull it off, but he managed in the end.  His head wasn’t near as fuzzy, which justified the three long gulps he took before lowering his gaze to the man on the bed again.    
  
The man was already seated, a warm smile reaching all the way up to his sparkling, dark eyes.  “If it helps, you can bring the bottle here.”  
  
“It certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Edmund mumbled as he stumbled towards him.  
  
Laughing, the man caught the king before he fell on top of him, taking the bottle away and gently setting it on the ground beside the bed, but not before taking a drink himself.  
  
Edmund watched his throat as the beautiful man slowly swallowed his wine.  But as he reached to caress the beautiful stranger's pale throat, Edmund found himself flipped over onto his back and the man crawling over to straddle the king’s thighs.    
  
“Apologies, your majesty,” he said in response to Edmund’s surprised gasp.  “Perhaps we should take this slow,” he soothed, reaching down to take Edmund in his hands.    
  
Edmund drew a deep breath at the stranger’s ministrations and let out a groan.  In response, the man increased the pressure of his strokes, and the king felt the blood rush to all his pleasant places.  
  
“Don’t stop,” Edmund said, struggling to sit up.  He braced himself on one hand as reached for the curls to bring the man down for long, languid kiss.  It had been awhile since Edmund had kissed a woman, and the gentle strokes of the man’s tongue made him realize how much he missed the simple, erotic act.    
  
“Who are you,” Edmund said, pulling away with a breathy gasp.  
  
The man smiled against Edmund’s lips.  “I am Cupid.”  
  
_Cupid.  Psyche.  Bacchus._   Edmund was back at that desk with the scratchy shirt, and the thick textbooks, and loud bombs, and the face of his mother, and his father’s voice…  
  
“Let go, Edmund,” he heard and felt from within.  “Let it all go.”  
  
And so Edmund pulled him down to his mouth again and gave in.  
  
______  
  
There was an obnoxiously loud bird outside his window.  It definitely wasn’t a Bird, for they all knew to stay away from the king’s bedchambers until at least noon.    
  
Edmund slowly cracked open an eye, fully anticipating the morning light to feed a pounding headache.  To his relief, though, he felt nothing.  Not nothing, really, he felt… refreshed.  Renewed.    
  
He sat up in his rumpled bed and took stock.  No dry mouth, no stiff joints, no queasiness.    
  
_Amazing.  What a night._  
  
Or, at least, he thought it was quite the night, for he found he couldn’t remember much else than to know to think “what a night.”    
  
The last thing he fully remembered was opening a bottle from the new shipment from Galma, and drawing a long drag from the pipe with the blue lasaia.  He looked over to the desk and saw the three empty bottles, haphazardly on their sides on the desk and floor.  And then under the desk…  
  
He jumped out of bed and bounded to look under the desk, stubbing his toe on a box protruding from underneath.  Edmund cursed the throb—it disturbing his near-perfect feeling this morning—and reached for the box, to find that there was another one stacked on top, unseen from his earlier viewpoint.    
  
Edmund opened the top box and found to his utter delight 12 unopened bottles of the Galma 1005.  He set that box aside and opened the one underneath—another set of 12 bottles.  
  
His gaze moved up to the ashes of the lasaia.  Back to the empty bottles.  And then to a crumpled up piece of paper.  Edmund unfolded it and saw his barely legible handwriting of “24 bottles” that he actually did remember writing the night before.    
  
However, he did not remember crossing it out.  Nor was it his handwriting below that simply said. “From C, provided by B, for E.”  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> My first near-smut! I figured Narnia could use the debut of a different god. I hope you enjoy!


End file.
